If I said

What would you say
If I said -I missed you
even while we were sitting together
If I said -I wish I didnt love you
while we exchanged harsh words
If I said - I would die for you
while you didnt know I exist
If I said - I wish we were together
knowing we couldnt even if we tried
If I said - I wish you were happy
while we couldnt be happy together
What would you say
while we dangled at the edge of an abyss
where we cant say aloud "I love you"
What would you say?

Rashmi K P 2006

P.S. I listed this as my entry for Poetry Wednesday on Feb 26th 2008 at Sans Souci's Page. Link below

Link back to the tour on Sans Souci's page

Photo Blog- 2 Crater Lake and Mount Hood, Oregon

In September this year we took the kids for their first time to Crater Lake. This was our third trip to this lake. There is something about this lake that makes you forget things like, Time or space. It has a very quiet but aware quality to it. It has the deepest blue colour I have ever seen. This is a lake that has formed in the caldera of a volcanic eruption. The State of Oregon has two ranges of mountains- the Cascade Range and the Coast Range. They both run in the North-south directions. The Cascades, have the highest mountains in the state. It has about 9 snow-capped peaks above 9000ft. The Highest is Mount Hood. It is a dormant volcano that hasn't erupted since 1865. The most recent eruption on the Cascade Range is Mt. St. Helens, which is in the state of Washington(north of Oregon), in 1980.

This is Mount Hood taken from an Aircraft as we were heading from Portland, OR to San Francisco, CA.

This is Up close and Personal. Taken standing on Mount Hood at the Timberline Ski Resort. The first time we went up to this Mountain, I was in total awe. The views along the way was literally to die for. Every Tree was laced with snow and I understood why the phrase Winter Wonderland came about.

This mountain is seen from some roads in the city's of Beaverton, Tigard and Portland. Everyday is a different view. On some days it has fog and is visible through the haze almost like a Giant looking down on us. On other days the clouds cover part of its tip like its wearing a muffler or shawl. In the winters, the snow-clad peak wears a pinafore of pink hue in the evening sun. Its beautiful to look at it while on a drive.

There are many natural lakes in Oregon. The most famous one is the Crater Lake. It is considered as one of the Natural wonders. It is the deepest lake in the USA. About 5000 ft of Mount Mazama's Peak is said to have collapsed after a volcanic eruption some 7700 years ago. The lava flow caused cones to form within the caldera forming peaks inside in the caldera. One of these peaks is the Wizard Island. The basin(caldera) filled up with rainwater and snow-melts, forming the present Lake. It is said to have the purest waters since there is no inlet of water into it or out of it for pollutants to get in. The lake is about 6 miles wide. The lake has rarely frozen completely. The last record of a complete freeze was in 1949.


Panoramic shot of Crater Lake from the Crater Lake Lodge. The land in the middle is the Wizard Island, formed from the lava that flowed inside the caldera to form Cinder cones. This was during our first visit sometime in 1997. We hiked the trail to the boatride in the Lake. Going down to the lake was easy, coming back wasnt so. I was breathless, the elevation makes it difficult to breathe if you already have hassles breathing. Lessons learned, never go without water or some form of nutrition(trailmix or some granola bar), and never without a sunscreen. I suffered my first Sunburn. The Irony, I never burned when I was living in the Tropical country(India), I had to come to the US to have a sunburn(still giggling about it). The Boat ride was an experience I wouldnt forget. Everyone in the boat were so quiet as to not disturb the quiet in the lake. The Guide explained for a few minutes the history of this lake and how clean the water was because there was on inlet into or out of the lake. There was a tree stump in the lake that peeped out. Considering the fact that this is the deepest lake in the USA, it made me wonder how tall the tree was? It was a lesson is humility, respect for nature and pure joy. You can see Lichens growing on rocks. We got to see a Bald eagle(listed as an endangered and so a protected species in Oregon) sitting atop Phantom Ship, a rock formation within the lake that looks like a Ship. It definitely made our day. According to the Guide, who worked there for over 3 years, it is rare to see bald eagles in this area.

This is the picture of that Tree Stump.

The Phantom Ship as seen on the Lake.

The Phantom ship as viewed from the Rim.

It was almost voyeuristic, as we walked up a trail to get in between trees, and peep to see this formation. Felt like we were intruding.

The Indians (Native Americans, there are four different peoples, the Klamath, the Molala, the Umpqua and the Takelma) living in the area revere this mountain and the lake. They have legends associated with this area. There never spoke of this place to the Caucasian settlers, because it was sacred. In 1853, three miners, John Wesley Hillman, Henry Klippel, and Issac Skeeters stumbled on the lake.. They called in Deep Blue Lake for its deep turquoise hue. In 1870, William Gladstone Steel surveyed the area in an effort to make it into a national park. With his and his group's effort and lobbying, Crater Lake National Park was established May 22, 1902 by President Theodore Roosevelt.

The Road along the Rim offers spectacular views. There is a lodge at Crater Lake. Biking is allowed along the rim and some trails. There are over 90 miles of hiking trails and Two Camp Grounds in the Park. The Park is open spring through summer. Smoking is not allowed on any trail, so you actually get to breathe FRESH air, although breathing at that elevation is difficult for some.

Here are some pictures of the view from the Rim.

Note the Deep Blue Hue? The Photo does very little justice to the colour we actually see.

Reflection.. in some areas we cant make out where the sky ends and the lake begins, its a very humbling experience. Make you feel like you are such a itty bitty piece of the huge puzzle that makes the Universe.

The view of the Mountains surrounding the Lake, as viewed from the rim.

The view of the Lake from the other side of the crater Lake lodge.

On one of the Trails we saw this tree skeleton. Thought it made an interesting shape.

Another view of the mountains from the rim

The four of us at the rim.

That brings me to the end of this Photo blog. Have fun Browsing

The weird things about me.

I usually dont play tag, but I am going to indulge HotinBuffalo just because its the end of the year and a holiday season... I wont be tagging anyone so dont worry. I am supposed to list 6 weird things about me... I had a tough time finding something that I thought was weird(to me I am boringly normal :P)

Ok here goes.

1. I have an assortment of paper, paints, paintbrushes, pencils and pens but never really use them. I like Ink pens(dont know why?)
2. The only musical ability I have other than listening to music is whistling.
3. I like watching tom and jerry and most of the disney cartoon movies and yes there has to be popcorn when I watch movies.
4. I drink coffee, lukewarm(just right).
5. I hate shopping.(Yeah I am a woman, at least was the last time I checked.).
6. I like watching movies in languages I dont understand.

Random story writing challenge

I have accepted Carol's Random Writing Challenge. Anyone who loves to write can join! You don't have to 'know someone' or be in a clique to join the challenge. Any individual who sees the challenge and wants to write can do so.

Here is my entry -

Hearts Boxes.

 

 

We stayed together when most said we wouldn't. We walked together through our financial difficulties, the death of our new born, our family's opposition and our period of separation due to our jobs. Our love was true and pure, this I believed. We believed we could stand any test of time. Where did we go wrong?

 

We cared a lot; we still do, though now the distance seems like an abyss. We still look upon our kids with love. We couldn't possibly love our kids, when we know they have a part of them that is not MINE, if we didn't love each other?

 

Sixteen years can make quite a difference in a person's thinking and personality. We had to be reminded that things will change, for in life, the only constant, is Change. Time, is a mean taskmaster. It can take the sweetest ideals of youth and make them bitterer than a bitter melon. We love each other but were no more IN Love. Passion, like every energy form, transforms and takes on other forms. His work became his passion, while waiting for him became mine. Each day with me made him more self-sufficient, while it eroded my worth. Each day he aimed higher while I couldnt get through my day. My unheard calls for togetherness, became a seed for resentment.

 

I remember the times we walked hand in hand, the warmth that spilled into cold nights, the long talks at the dinner table and the shoulders we leaned on. A sigh escapes me. He is right, it's better to leave before we begin to hate each other. Anger brings words that can't be taken back once it is out. This way, we will be able to find Passion for ourselves, while still being there for our kids and family. Maybe I will find myself, who I unwittingly lost.

 

I walk out the door with my packed bags, taking with me what I can touch, see and belongs exclusively to me. I lug an unseen sack tied at my chest. I could'nt find a box, big enough to fit my memories.

The year that is, soon to be Was.

I look upon this month with a mixed feeling, cause this is usually the time I review the last year. Rationally I know looking back really does nothing good, that its best to move forward from where we are. But I like looking back at the quiet drama that my life is.

2006 started off badly for my cyberlife... I lost my old ID, I was so sad and angry, nay, I was depressed, mainly because I had a whole list of family and friends ID that I lost. I recovered some from memory, but there are those that I dont remember. I am taking a zen-esque view of it, so I am telling myself that it was time's way of telling me to move on. And now I learned to not trust technology more than having a paper and pen backup job.

I started to blog sometime in November 2005. Originally, my intention was to write my opinions about the different happenings around me but then I discovered that I could write only if I felt for the topic. So I got back to what I used to do in my Teens, write poetry, recording some incoherent thoughts, rambling over unfounded theories and short stories that no one read(cause no one saw them). In the process I discovered beautiful people, enjoy their writing, get a glimpse of how others live(yes I am a curious person but not curious enough to stalk), feel the kindred spirits in the mothers, the parents and friendship. Its been such a lovely experience. Thank you my friends and unknown kind strangers for letting it be so.

My kids have been what they are - my source of awe, unconditional love and tenderness, amusement and hair-pulling episodes. My daughter is in the 1st grade now and is totally enjoying her math and reading sessions. She plays the keyboard by the ear quite well(planning on putting her into a paino class soon). Her favorite activity seems to be doing puzzles, drawing, colouring and crafts. Last month, her request was "Mom, when are you going to teach me to cook?" So I had to tell her "when you can stand and stir at the stove without needing a chair".

My son is in pre-school, this year was good at least he didnt fall ill every month, so I guess his immune system has adapted. He will be in KG next year. He loves to do anything his sister can do. He plays twinkle twinkle on the keyboard, again by the ear. Hes knows to write most alphabets and sound off the words, he loves to jump off the sofa(should I let him bungee jump?) and worships his sister. He also likes according to him "Karate". He likes to doodle and have stories read or narrated to him. Any time music is turned on, he likes to do the goofy dance(giggling), its very hilarious to watch. Both are such clowns, they like to laugh and make others laugh. Yes, they do have their moments when they are at each others throats, thats when Mommy the Umpire steps in, and they know they have both lost the fight.

My husband, well, hes as bald as ever and as funny as ever. Among all my decisions I made in life, Marrying him was the best One. He did something for me that I never dreamed he would do... He actually took care of the house and the two little ones for over a month, so I could visit my mother and be back. yes ! I am blessed to have him and hold him. Hes had a very busy work schedule this year...sometimes I miss him though I live with him , but this too shall pass.

I visited home this year, so I miss them a little less than I did last year or maybe I am getting used to existence without them. My mom is hanging in there, inspite of her numerous health complications. Somedays are good, some worst but I am glad for the time I have with her. While I was there, I did spend some time going with her to the hospital so that my dad could take a break from routine, wish I could do more. My dad is tired, from all the looking after and the errands he does at his age, he is seventy and hes been my mom's sole caregiver for over 6 years now. My brother and Sis-in-law had their daughter this year in March and they are happy. They have very busy lives with their work schedules and looking after the baby.

My cousins, three of them married this year, I was there for one's marriage... So I got the food, met most of my relatives and my gran who is 91, so things are good. I finally made it to see my cousin's newly built home(which was about 3 years ago) and to anothers home for the first time after she married (about 6 years ago). Living in a different part of the world from your family is a painful when I think of the things I should have been there for. But this is a choice I have to live with.

I met some of my friends while I was in Bangalore, we spent time going to our old haunts and talking about how life has changed and how we managed to remain the same for each other. Its amazing what affection can do. I got to visit most of my favorite eateries(yeah I love food, typical Indian food). Everyone is in the kids and family mode but scratch the surface and you see that carefree side we shared at school and college.

We bought a house this year(finally). I got a part time job(one day a week) working as a montessori pre-school teaching assistant(a step in the right direction?). I dont know what I feel about it other than the fact that I am amazed at the workings of kids minds. They make me want to do more for them, build a strong base for them when it comes to learning and attitudes. I didnt gain or lose any pounds this year(good thing? bad thing?). I havent done as many paintings or sketches as I wanted to do or crochet for that matter (bad time manager?)but I did write poetry and stories and read a few books.

All in all its been a good year... Life is as it should be... Hoping you all had a good year too..

May the coming Year bring into your lives and homes much love, peace-of-mind, happiness, good health and prosperity.

Happy Hannukah!!
Merry Christmas!!
Happy Kwanza!!
And
A Very Happy New Year!! to you all.

Prison

 

Here we are going through life, prisoners of our senses and emotions. Yet we talk of Freedom. We proudly display our independence and say we are free to do what we want, when we want, say what we want, when we want. But the reality is we aren't really free. I watch myself and other people go about their everyday lives in our many splendoured cages totally unaware of it. The prison is an intangible one, its abstract. The Prison of our thoughts, emotions, intentions, experiences.

We are influenced by our parents, teachers, and people living around us, circumstances and events. To be Free, I think, we should be able to not be influenced but to pick and choose what we need or what works for us. Do we really choose for ourselves? Is'nt influence our prison too? It's almost a Stockholm syndrome... we like an idea because we empathize with the idea. After a while that idea becomes something we believe and so behave within the limits of our belief. We live our lives justifying the numerous things that we do or say or think because someone, someplace at sometime said it or did it and we empathize with it.

How many of us can choose one emotion over the other? Do we really choose who we will love or hate? If yes, then it should be possible for us to choose to Hate the ones we love or Love the ones we hate. On careful observation, we love either what is familiar to us or what gives us a sense of pleasure and within our zone of comfort, everything else we either are oblivious to or dislike. Which implies that there is a limit or boundary to the things that we could like/love/tolerate. So how are we free to love or hate?

Ambivalence is probably one of the emotions that can't be considered a prison. The "I don't care" either way attitude. Ever notice the first time you meet someone you weren't even thinking of meeting. We don't have an opinion of the person but gradually based on what they say or do or wear, our opinions form. Most times the first impressions of the person, lasts. Is it because it really is so or we perceive it so, therefore it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy?

I have too many questions, too few answers.

With my head in the clouds
Mithuna.

What Mithuna means

Here's my peeve for the day - Over the past two weeks I have changed my blog settings to viewing by "friends of friends". I did that in the hope that there will be more people (who think differently that I do), leaving their comments or their thoughts. What I didn't expect is people looking for cybersex or reasons that I am not here for, asking me to be their friend. According to one of the messages I received, I shouldn't have used the name Mithuna if I didn't intend something to do with sex... OK...either I am totally dense or I am totally lost... so I am going to do the next best thing I can- give you an explanation as to what Mithuna means.

Mithuna is Sanskrit Name for the Constellation of Gemini (the twins in the zodiac sign). I used it as a metaphor for my belief that every thing in this world is perceived as dualities...It is pronounced Me + thu (as in the th of think) + Na (a as in ah). Here's another thing I wouldn't do- If you have nothing on your profiles other than a whole lot of Friends AND if you are not related to me in person, please do not invite me to be your friend. I am not looking to win the fullest friends bin competition. ty for listening.

Discrimination

As I was reading Christophers blog on Uncomfortable silence, I remembered something similar I had written with my previous ID..Yes, someone took over my old ID. At the time I was a newbie to the blogging world. I am posting it here for your perusal.

Discrimination, its Different Masks

One of the topics that comes up from time to time, when people know I am a Hindu is "what do you think of Caste system?" Or "did you know that the Vedas support discrimination via the caste system?" Usually this particular verse from the Rig Veda is quoted -

"The Brahman was his mouth, of both his arms was the Rajanya made. His thighs became the Vaisya, from his feet the Sudra was produced.." Rig Veda (10.90.12). ¹

I mean how important could the Sudras be if they came from the feet? Right? My interpretation is very different though- the different classes within the society are like the Organs of a Body and every part is important but never independent. One cannot claim that only ONE particular organ/muscle/bone/tissue in the body is more important than any of the others. If one class is powerful than the other, its power only comes from the people who serve that class. If a Kingdom had no subjects who would the King rule over?

So yes, we have a caste system. That is not to say that I agree with it or love it. Like all systems in the world, it has its pros and its cons. I am just making my observations. Different scholars/experts on Hindus and Hinduism have different views on how it came about and how it was enforced. A note of caution though, you have to remember that all the "written history" of beginnings of caste system is pure speculation, because no one (not even a great scholar of the time) has gone back in time to really see how it all started or worked.

Honestly, I don't know what I am expected to think of caste or why it should be such an important thing, especially when I look around and see it exist in some form or other in different parts of the world. On the positive side, a caste system is very obvious. It doesn't play the cat and mouse game like say in the US where there are laws against discrimination, but then there are places where the store clerk follows you around if you are of African or SE Asian descent and you enter the store. Indian caste system saves us a lot of trouble when it comes to figuring out where we fit in the society. Each caste knows what it is supposed to do within a society, how to live, eat, etc.. We know our Place in the Society, no hypocrisy there.

Every place and people in this world has their own forms of discrimination. In some places it's subtle and in others it is "in your face". Let's consider the following scenarios-how many of the US citizens are actually invited to the Democratic or Republican conventions ? I mean, you give your tax money to them in the form of payment for their time serving you as a Nation, so then in all fairness, everyone of you should be invited to the conventions held by those you voted to rule the country, right? How many Caucasians compared to those who were of African or Asian decent, were actually held in the airports of USA and Europe since the 9/11, for extra security scrutiny? How many section 8 housing are there in a  wealthy neighborhood in the USA? How many roadside vendors in England actually get to visit the Queen in the Palace? How many People in the CEO cadre of the corporate world (anywhere in the world) actually marry a Pauper? How many people in every nation of Europe do not Mind the influx of "non-white" immigrants? How many people in the English speaking world would actually listen to a person who doesn't know to speak English or learn the others language to accommodate them? How many of us actually have any respect for the tribals who live in different parts of the world? How many of us don't have stereotypical versions of a person of the other "religion/culture/nation/language group"? I am guessing most of the answers will be... "It does happen but it's a rare thing".

In my opinion, Caste system exists in every part of the world, just the semantics are different. You just need to substitute the words "class, race, status, qualification, gender, etiquette, education, type of job, nationality, language group, religious group" for caste and voila! You have a discrimination fit for every nation, people and religion in this world.

Human beings do judge and discriminate. Instead of denying we do that, it would be better for us to acknowledge that each of us shares this flaw in some form, masked with some word definition and then be aware of that. Instead of taking the "I am holier than thou" path, we should be looking at the "how can we be more aware and sensitive to discrimination". Maybe then it would make us live up to what we think is "Human" in us.

¹ This is part of the Purusha Sukta, a sixteen versed Hymn from the Rig veda. And as it is with all verses in a hymn/poem, it needs to be taken in context of the previous verses and the verses after. The hymn talks about the Purusa(the all pervading energy). I think each one should read it and interpret it from their own understanding. Those interested can go to this site.

http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/rigveda/rv10090.htm

The Old Soldier

What makes him so proud?
A septuagenarian,
With a straight back
Affection in his tone
Over conversations of long ago
Of friends who didnt get out.
Of knowing his purpose in life.

He left a long time ago
But his training holds
Never a complain of how hard it is,
Or how tiresome life is
Waking up day after day
To the things that need done
Serving his family, friends
And those around him.

Looking down on us
with disgust in his eyes
For what he calls "new generation",
"The lazy ones" he says
"Not grateful for the things they have"
Shaking his head with hopelessness
"not respecting the sacrifices of the
forefathers; or knowing true courage;
Not understanding the circle of life;
Nor the changing seasons;
Not caring for the earth, its many lives"

At the Amar Jawan Jyothi
He sits and sighs,
Time, not on his side
Yet he walks with a straight back
Holding his head high
I wonder if I could ever
Grasp that essence that -
Makes him tall, loyal, brave and kind.

-Rashmi 2006

P.S. This is my entry for the Poetry Wednesday-March 12th 2008 hosted by  Sans Souci.  Click the Name to link back.

Photo-blog- Kaulalumpur, Malaysia.

These are some pictures that I took during my visit to Bangalore via Hongkong and Kualalumpur in May this year. I left my kids with hubby dearest and travelled alone, it was a fun experience interpersed with missing them while I was there.

Hong Kong airport view. An aircraft was just taking off. It was early in the morning.

It was drizzling, and the glass had droplets on them. The view outside was foggy, felt like it was a dream.

This was the temple at the base of the Batu Cave temple, Malaysia.

The Gaint Sri Murugan Statue outside the Caves. Behind you can see the staircase leading up to the cave temple. The group of people I was with excepting for one old couple, climbed up to the top.

The view from the top. This was the view of the city from the Batu caves. It was just awesome to stand and look down.

On the way back to the airport we saw this pagoda, I am not sure what its called. I took this snap from a moving Van and hoped it would be clear. My wish was granted :P

Outside the gates of the Palace. On the way back from the Petronas towers we stopped at the King's palace, we didnt go in, as it was late and we had to get back to the airport.

will post more as I upload and sort them..

Short story - 4 The Wake Part 1

This was a story I wrote  about a year ago.  Its been fermenting in my file folder until now.. Hope you all enjoy this wine (laughing). I have broken it into two parts so that it doesnt overwhelm those who like short reads :).

The Wake -Part 1

She lay on a mat made of dry coconut fronds, on the floor. A simple white sheet covered her lifeless body.  People came in, paid their respects and went outside to congregate in the huge make shift shelter outside the house. Some of these people were familiar. I haven’t seen most of them for the last 15 years but I knew who they were from their eyes. Usually, the wake is attended by family members, but I notice that most gathered there wasn’t family, including myself.

 

Selvi aunty was the only one of the few women who didn’t work at the factory. She knew most every kid on our block; what time they went to school, when they returned, what their interests were.  Selvi Aunty was 5’ tall but seemed taller when she stood.  Aunty was a term of respect everyone used for any lady who is as old as our mother/aunts/grand moms.   She wasn’t very highly educated but she had the wisdom of the sages.  She was very easy to talk to, the most patient person I had ever known.  I have never heard her raise her voice in anger. Her voice almost sang when she spoke.   And now, we will hear her, no more.

 

We had twelve hours of waiting. We nodded our heads at each other in recognition. One of the men came up to me, dragging me away from my thoughts and said “I haven’t seen you in… hmm… 15 years?  How are you?”  I smiled. I knew the eyes but couldn’t remember the name. He understood my dilemma and said “Remember Satish?” and smiled. I caught on –“The Math homework Satish?” “The very same” he said. So we got talking about our lives and where we were and what we did. I asked how he came to be at the wake, not being family… and he said “well, if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be who I am”.

 

I looked puzzled, so he elaborated.  He said “Remember that time when my dad got laid off?”  I said “Yes, I think we were in our 10^th grade”. “Yes, that was the time; after a few months, my dad didn’t have any money for our tuition, so I was going to drop out of school”.  I was quite surprised.   Satish was a top ranking student in my class and he was my savior when it came to Math.   I listened as he continued “My dad went to the money lender, but didn’t get any money as he didn’t have collateral.  He then went to the bank, but then he didn’t have a job and the bank refused to loan him any money.”

 

Satish had decided to quit school, so that he could find a job to help out his father. He was the eldest of four children. Most of the people who lived in our block worked in factories, and so did his parents. There was never enough money to spare. The most crucial time in a student’s life, was the tenth grade. It was the stepping stone for higher education which led to better paid jobs.   Satish continued “Selvi aunty heard about this from my sister and spoke to our principal.  She somehow convinced him to forgo the 4 months tuition and let me have an education for the rest of the school year. If it wasn’t for that I don’t know what I would be doing today.” Satish went on to become a computer Engineer and opened a company of his own that assembles computers.  “When my business began to prosper, I started an Education Trust at our school, in her name.  The money is used to help out kids who come from low income homes, to study for free. It’s just a small way of passing on her legacy.”

 

As we talked, Rahul came and sat with us. Rahul was the younger brother of Rohan. Both went to a different school than I did but we all played together on the street. Rahul was quiet, sharp, thoughtful and kind while Rohan was the bully.  Rahul was embarrassed by his brother’s behavior but never ever stood up to him.  Rohan knew how to make the girls cry and the boys throw the first punch. He was a master manipulator.  He had Selvi aunty in the palm of his hand. He was always helpful, courteous and well mannered with her.  This used to be very annoying to watch because the kids on the block knew him to be a monster. Things changed when, Shrey’s mother, Mrs. Thapar, came to visit Rohan’s parents. This was unusual because they lived about six blocks from ours, and were not acquainted with each other.  It turned out that Shrey who was Rohan’s classmate was being harassed by Rohan everyday, for money.  On that particular day Rohan had given Shrey a black eye, when Shrey refused to part with the money.  After Mrs. Thapar left, we could hear Rohan’s father giving him a good hiding.  Selvi aunty tried her best talking Rohan into changing his ways.  It seemed to be working until one day the police came to arrest the 20 year old Rohan for theft.   It turned out that Rohan was part of a gang that robbed from electronic stores and pawned off the goods for money.   That was the day I saw Selvi aunty in tears.  She never cried when her children were all sick with chicken pox or when her mother passed away, but she cried when the police took Rohan away.  He has been in and out of jail since. Right now he is in for forging checks.

 

It was about 9 pm and it was getting chilly, so we got ourselves some hot coffee. I see Ranjani arrive with her husband.  Ranjani comes from a very orthodox Brahmin family, the kind that cooks food wearing wet clothes, to avoid “pollution”.  She was the elder of the two sisters. Her family lived in a joint family household, where the head of the family was her grandfather. Her grandfather was of the opinion that Girls should be taught to cook, clean, sew and look after babies, not get a “western” education.  So as soon as Ranjani finished her 10^th grade, she was going to be married to a guy that her grandfather had chosen. She was fifteen years old, with dreams of becoming a fashion designer and there she was, being forced to marry someone at least 15 years older than she was.  She used to visit Selvi aunty, once every week to learn embroidering.  There she broke down and told Aunty that, she won’t need to come to learn anymore.  She didn’t have any hope of ever getting a degree in fashion designing.  Selvi aunty was calm and told Ranjani to continue the classes anyway, after all they were free.  Later, she met with the Ranjani’s grandparents at the temple and somehow got them to drop the idea of Ranjani’s marriage. The marriage got postponed indefinitely and Ranjani got her degree in Fashion Designing. Today she has a booming boutique business. 

 

It was about 2 am and there we were talking of why we were there.  Vivek had walked up to join us as we listened to Ranjani. He was the younger brother of my classmate, Vani, who was also there. When Ranjani was done talking, Vivek smiled quietly and said “She was my angel”.   Vivek loved to sing. He has a very lovely, deep but soft, well modulated voice.  He wanted to learn to sing well but his parents never had the money to afford extra money for music lessons.  “It used to be my dream to become an Ustad (master) at singing. I wanted to learn classical music.” He used to practice the songs he heard on the radio stations till it sounded right and sing for his friends.  “I sang at college during the talents day competitions and won, so I was sent for the inter-college singing competitions.  After a tough 6 rounds of singing with students who were trained to sing, I won again”.  A year later he got an invite for an interstate competition to be held in Bombay.  “I knew I couldn’t go, I needed clothes, tickets and money for my stay there.  I didn’t have the heart to ask dad for money, when I knew he had none to spare, I was quite depressed.”  He spoke to the dean of his college about his predicament… they were willing to finance his tickets but then he had to take care of expenses for the stay over and sundry.  Selvi aunty knew what was happening with him through her son, who was Vivek’s friend.  “She came to my home and spoke to my parents, convincing them to allow me to take the money she was giving me.”  It wasn’t a lot of money by today’s standards, but it was the most valuable sum of money Vivek ever received.  Vivek won the competition. He got to train in classical music and became a singer of good repute with about 200 songs to his name.   But singing is his second job.  He became an architect and volunteers at our Organization to teach classical music to the kids.  â€œBut, singing is still my lifeline and Selvi aunty let me strengthen it” he said.

 

Short Story - 4 -The Wake - 2(end)

This is the second part of the story The Wake.

The Wake-Part 2.

I see someone waving at a distance, coffee in one hand. It’s my outspoken friend Ruchi.  She pulls up a chair to sit in our circle.  So we listen to what she’s doing and to my surprise she is the Manager of Housekeeping at a 5 star Hotel. 

 

Ruchi is my classmate. She lost her mother to cardiac arrest, when we were in 3rd grade.  Her mother had a heart condition that could not be treated at the time. She was an only child and was brought up by her grandmother and father. She was a wild, pampered child. With Ruchi anything that need to be said, will be said and anything that she wants, she will make sure she gets.  I remember going to her home and seeing that all the chores that I would normally do in my home was done by a maid in hers.  Ruchi didn’t know the first thing about looking after a home; leave alone a 5 star Hotel. Selvi aunty was Ruchi’s paternal aunt.  When Ruchi came of age, Selvi aunty became Ruchi’s confidante.  Girls that age need a mother and Selvi aunty took on the responsibility. Gradually Ruchi changed, from someone who had no sense of poise to a confident, calm, graceful individual.  After 10^th grade, I moved to a different town so I didn’t get to meet Ruchi often.  We did meet at a School reunion, where she mentioned that she had not yet decided what field she was going to major in.  She runs a Soup kitchen for the homeless and displaced people.  I could never picture her standing at the stove cooking or for that matter serving food.  Now as I see her, I am in awe of the person she has become.

  

It’s about 4 am and I get up to get another cup of coffee, wondering where Selvi aunty’s husband was.  On my way back, I notice a huge picture of him with decorations of flowers, through the doorway, in what used to be Aunty’s bedroom. He had passed on and I didn’t know.  For a moment, I stood still at the doorway. Someone pats my back; I turn around to see Shaam, our resident story teller.  I ask him how and when “Uncle” died. All I knew about Uncle was that he was a Professor of chemistry at the Bangalore University.  He used to help us out with our Chemistry lessons and homework.  He was a tall, thin, wry man. Now I know he died of complications from diabetes. Selvi aunty was there at his bedside, everyday. He was in a coma for 3 years before he died.  Shaam said “I had gone to visit him the day he died. Each of them spoke to Uncle and that when it was Selvi Aunty’s turn, she said – “Don’t worry, I will follow you soon”. That was 1 year ago, yesterday.”

 

Shaam was Selvi aunty’s son, Pratam’s Friend. He was sort of a big brother to the kids in our Block. Any trouble that we couldn’t talk to our parents about went to Shaam Bhaiya (brother, in Hindi). It was very easy to talk to Shaam. He never judged us, always said something that could make us feel better and he knew how to accept us, warts and all.  He knew of all our infractions, like getting a D in spelling to losing our newly bought watercolors box. Shaam had a sister Nirmala, who was 1 year my senior and had a limp due to polio in childhood.  Every time I have been to him for help of some kind, he would be writing.  His Father was very strict with Shaam and Nirmala’s education. One day there was lot of yelling emanating from Shaam’s home. It was apparent that Shaam’s father was very angry.  Later we know that the reason for that anger was the discovery of a boxful of Shaam’s stories and poems. And it dawns on me, so that’s what he was writing.  The Father was disappointed that Shaam would rather spend time writing stories than getting good grades at school.  For the next few weeks, we saw a rather melancholy Shaam.  Then after a few more weeks we got back our old smiling Shaam Bhaiya.  We never knew what happened until now. Selvi aunty saw Shaam’s long face and confronted him about what had happened with his father. Shaam admitted that he had been paying more attention to his stories than studies.  So Selvi aunty made a deal with him. She told him that she would listen to one story a month no more than 3 pages or 3000 words provided he never neglects his studies. So Selvi aunty’s home became Shaam’s writing paradise. He left his work there and read his stories to aunty every month. He kept his end of the deal and majored in Literature and has 5 best sellers to his name. One of the books is a collection of short stories that he dedicated to Selvi Aunty. He is now a professor of literature at the Local College. He volunteers as a counselor in a home for Battered women. He runs a small scale industry for handicrafts made by these women to help them get back on their feet.

I became aware of Selvi Aunty’s existence when I was about 11 years old. I was very opinionated, idealistic and very naïve. I used to visit her home on some evenings to talk to her youngest daughter, Preeta, who was 1 year my senior. I could relate to her very well and thought of her as elder sister.  On this particular day, I was very disappointed with a friend of mine.  I had made her a beaded purse as a gift for her birthday. I had spent hours sewing on the colored beads to make the purse as beautiful as I could, only to realize that she so hated the gift that she had given it to her maid who works in her home.  I was hurt that my careful work was of no value to someone I thought was my friend.   Selvi aunty was sitting with us at the dining table preparing the vegetable for dinner and listening as I narrated the incident to Preeta.  I sat there quietly, with tears in my eyes.  Selvi aunty said, “What you give to others becomes theirs after they accept it.  What they do with it, is up to them. It is good to Give and Forget but when you Receive, always Remember.”  That was the first piece of wisdom I received from Aunty.  It made complete sense to my 11 year old brain.  In a few words she told me that she understood how I felt, that my friend was wrong to have done what she did, but that I could always view the incident differently. I still carry a small note in my purse with the words “Give without remembering, and Receive without Forgetting.”  That is the motto of the Volunteer organization that Ranjani, Rahul and I have started, seven years ago.   It is an organization that works for the all round growth of individuals within our communities.  We have people who either volunteer time, money or both.  We have after school programs for kids, where yoga, chess, dance forms, arts, crafts, cricket, hockey, football, help with homework and story times are conducted by volunteers. The volunteers work on a rotation basis, with a commitment of seeing a particular class through to the end of the course. It is a droplet of water in the mighty ocean, but Selvi aunty was very pleased when she heard about it.  Especially when I told her that she was the reason for me choosing this path. She said she was glad that we were paying it forward.

 

It’s about 6 am. In the east, the sun beams light the sky with beautiful hues.  I see all the faces in the make shift shelter outside and realize we have all been passing on to others, what we got from Selvi aunty in our own miniscule ways.  She has been our guide without the label or the accolades, helping us live and become who we are.  Not everyone made it the way she thought they would but each of us was forever changed because of her.  She has lived an obscurely rich life by mining precious potential out of each of our lives.  The people gathered there, were all family through her.  I smile at the realization of - How truly blessed we were to have had her in our lives. The wake was truly awakening.

My fav sequence in "House of flying daggers"

I watched the Chinese Movie "House of flying daggers" last year sometime.  I loved the simple theme of the movie.. the Story can be told  in one paragraph. 

The chinese police were trying to catch the leader of a revolutionary group that is against the imperial throne, while the group is trying to infilterate the police force. Between their efforts two souls get involved in a love-hate-duty relationship. How they resolve their hearts and the reality is what the movie is all about. It has some really beautiful scenery of the Ukranian countryside.  There was this dance sequence I particularly loved. It was called the echo game in the movie.. here it is for your viewing pleasure. 

In the sequence Zhang Ziyi plays the part of a supposedly blind dancing girl and Andy Lau is the guy who is throwing the beans .

 

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Have fun.

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Entry for November 27, 2006

For the poem "From Beyond"  I got requests from  Jack(kasp), Brenny , Sekar for the thoughts that sculpted the words.  So, here I am giving the background behind the words. 

One of the things I love to do is watch people go about their lives(probably why my jobs are unfinished most times).  While in college, I used to see this young woman, maybe in her 30's whose husband died in a freak accident.  She was from a middle class family but her husband was wealthy and the only son.  They had the biggest, beautiful house on the block, and she never seemed to lack anything but there was always a sort of sadness about her.  We(my friends and I at the bus-stop) used to see her go to the temple every morning, she used to walk  with the basket of all the pooja saamagri(flowers, incense etc used for worship). Her in-laws were the very social kind, so there was always people in that house, always the smell of ghee and basmathi rice when we pass by. I never really had a clue to the why of her sadness until I got married and heard about the death of my schoolmate's husband.  I began to understand a little about the  sadness.  Its a loneliness that cant be explained. Its a loss of love shared between spouses, the sense of belonging, and support from the one person a married woman in our society tends to lean on- her husband.   In my poem, I was trying to capture that. 

The first stanza was to give a sense of being lonely inspite of not being alone. The second stanza for what she has and what she dreams for. The third is the acceptance of reality while wishing he was alive, still missing him.  Most of it is imagined, cause I never ever spoke with her to really know what she was sad about.

 

From Beyond

Listening to footsteps beside me
Walking together as we should be
Invisible eyes watch our every move
Through the veil of time and skies above
Window-shopping, we keep our distance
Waiting for darkness, perhaps a chance.

 

In the Grand Mansion of plenty
Every room ornate yet empty
People with smiles a mile
Food heaped in many a pile
In the room I feel-
Your breath caress my nape,
Every pulse beat through my cape
Every inch of your palm prints
Every wave of your thoughts
Your every gaze bores a hole
Through my fortress, like a mole.

 

Darkness hears whispered names,
Moonbeams through the windows lace,
Bares my soul for you to see
In Nakedness, wholly Yours I'll be.

Drumbeats subside in the glen
Waking me from slumber's den.
Sighing quietly Over dreams lost
When death put him in the past.

 

We walk together, like always
Keeping to time's pathways
I wait for darkness, in vain.
To be with you again.

 

- Rashmi K P 2006

 

Tour the Creative Challenge #26 through here

 

Automated music

Just made my jaw drop..sharing it with you all.

For "Selling Democracy" (360 repost)

This is in response to Christophers "devil' advocate festival".   I like the idea of Democracy and Freedom, I dont think it would work everywhere  for every country or peoples in the world.  I think each country and its people need to decide what form of governance works for them. I dont think any other country  has any right or say in what kind of a government should be elsewhere. So I am against the US imposing a democratic form of government elsewhere in the world. That being said.. here goes my rant on FOR "Selling Democracy".

I feel weird when Americans say they are ashamed of the democracy they have. We should be proud of being Americans, after all we are probably the only democratic country in the world without a history of sectarian voilence. Have you ever heard of suicide bombings in the US or killing someone based on religion? or other discriminations?  Democracy builds an educated and sensible citizenry with mature sensibilities. We need to make sure that Democracy takes roots elsewhere in the world.. after all it works well for us and God did say we should share what we know and have with the others so they may redeem themselves from sin of not having what we have.. so it is a good thing to evangelize the rest of the world for democracy. This is the way  we can have world Peace, ONE world order, Free trade pacts and sell ice to the eskimos. .Being democratic ensures us  freedom of speech which is lacking in the asian, middle eastern and african nations. We might sometimes have a loose cannon for a mouth or step on another country's toes but its freedom of speech all the same. Freedom allows us freedom to make blunders too.  We seem arrogant because the others dont understand Individualism that is part and parcel of being a democratic society.  We also have a secular government cause being democratic we know how to separate church and state. We never allow our religion to dictate moral codes via laws, or interfere in the workings of the government or any of the amenities that use the tax that our people pay to run them. So I am all for democracy in the Middle east even if it doesnt work for them.

I wish more people could walk in our shoes, its big and its a perfect fit for any people, anywhere, after all where else can you have so much freedom- Freedom to eat as much as we want, use as much energy and water we want, freedom to extradite anyone from any country without that country's approval, freedom to refuse extradition from our country to any other country, freedom to tap people's phones and emails on a mere suspicion, freedom to invade another country even when that country did not attack our borders, freedom to criticize another country's way of life, religion or governance, freedom to assasinate those leaders around the world who do not agree with us and install puppet governments, freedom to be who we are, and all that we can be, freedom to make sure that there are "no fly zones" in another country.  Ah, I would sell this kind of freedom anytime, anyplace.   I Love  our Democracy and everyone else should too.

Short story -3--The Ghost

The Ghost.

 

Manish and I smiled at each other as we looked through the paper, Could this be the one?  It was 12:15 am, the air was warm but our hands were cold and our hearts were racing. We handed the scrawny looking man our money, and headed home.   I feel my chest, making sure the paper was still there under the shirt.  It cost me and my eight friends quite a sum of money- the question paper for the next day’s examinations.  We had to make sure we passed with at least 98% marks so that we could get into a professional college paying a minimum donation. 

 

The previous evening all of us met at the cafeteria near our college to pool our money. There was a cemetery close to the printing press where the question papers for the exams are scheduled to be printed.   None of us were really thrilled at the idea of waiting at the cemetery for a rendezvous with our “question paper Man”.   So we drew two names from a lot, and I was one of them.  We’ve heard many stories of ghosts that have been sighted within the cemetery walls and the road close by.  We’ve never seen one but it was unnerving to be so close to the cemetery late at night. To top it all, this is the first time we were doing something illegal. If the cops catch us, our life as we know it, is over. If we don’t get above 98%, we will be disappointing our parents and family, which in turn will riddle us with guilt for the rest of our lives.  Our fear of not living up to our family’s expectations far outweighed the fear of cops or ghosts. 

 

In the euphoria of having an ace up our sleeve for the next days exams, we were each lost in our own thoughts of how great a day tomorrow, hmm, today would be.  We had about 25 minutes of walking through the path between the graves, when suddenly my friend stopped walking and said “did you hear that?” I stopped about two paces from him and said “what?”  He said, “Nothing, It stopped”. I figured he was playing a prank on me, so I started to walk and he followed.  That’s when I heard the “ching, ching, ching” go in sync with my footsteps.  I stopped, Manish stopped and so did the “ching”. I looked at him and he stared back, we simultaneously checked our pockets for keys.  No, not keys, no change either. We were 18 and we were “Men” so not willing to submit to fear, I say “Hmm. guess we are imagining it.” He plays along “Yeah, I guess”. So we start walking and the “ching, ching, ching” gets louder and closer, like its almost right behind us. We also smell a whiff of the nightqueen.   Our fear started to take over, we stopped and looked at each other with eyes in pure terror, and yelled “RUN!!!”

 

We flew to my house which was the closest, got inside shut the door, and were totally breathless.  We turn out the lights and look out the window. At a distance we see a beautiful,  pale woman walking in a streaming white sari under the moonlight.  For a moment neither of us spoke and then Manish whispered “Bhoothni(female ghost)”.    Wordlessly we made a pact to not mention this episode to anyone, and went about our day like nothing had happened.  For many nights after the event, I would wake up in a sweat.

 

To this day, when the two of us meet, we still wonder what we saw on that day. We are almost double the age we were then, but even now, talking of this event brings goose bumps.  Our wives know about it, but they think we just made this up to frighten them. We wonder if we really saw that lady in white.  We’ve had many discussions about what we really see in life. Logically we can only see what our eyes see, but we did see something that day that we instinctively know defies logic. Could fear change our vision of reality? Could two people have the same imagination?  Could we have dreamed the same dream on the same night? Could we dream while we are awake?  If it was a dream, how did we manage to dream while walking home. Our lives are filled with uncertainties, there are always questions that cant be answered and events that escape our understanding. Perhaps, I need to go with the flow, cause in the not knowing, I felt humility. After all we can never Know everything but we can always live with grace, no matter what happens.

Nice Huggies ad.

Had to share with you all.. thought this was cute.

 

The Invitation

This is a poem from a  book.   Click on the title to see it.

The Invitation   by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

copyright © 1999 by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime?

People come into  your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out  which one it is, you will know what to do for each person. 

When someone is in your life for a REASON. . . It is usually to meet a  need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty,  to provide you with guidance and support, to aid  you physically,  emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and  they are! 

They are there for the reason  you need them to be. Then, without any wrong doing on your part, or at  an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the  relationship to an end. Sometimes they die.  Sometimes  they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a  stand. 

What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled,  their work is done. The prayer you sent up has  been answered. And now it is time to move on. 

When  people come into your life for a SEASON... It is because  your turn  has  come to share, grow, or learn. They bring you an experience of peace,  or  make you laugh. 

They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it!  It is real! But, only for a season. 

LIFETIME  relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build  upon in  order to have a solid emotional foundation... 

Your job is to  accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use  in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is  said that love  is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. 

Thank you for being a  part of my life.

Short story-2-- My First Crush

 

I have lost count of the times when I told myself I wouldn't do the things that I observe others to be doing wrong.  But life has other plans.  There I sat watching, Nirmal, as she watched Amit through her eye lashes. I knew she was very much in love with him. They knew each other from school but to Amit she was just his friend/study mate.  With all my 18 years of wisdom I thought she should let him know how she felt. After all what is the worse that could happen.  In case he doesn't accept her love and reciprocate then it's not like she had it in the first place to lose it. 

My best friend had really beautiful eyes and long lashes. I envied her graceful calm face.  We met in the most difficult year for most of us. This was the time when most of us left familiar things of our childhood and headed out to college. Most of us hoped we would find someone from school to be friends with or we had to forge new relationships with strangers.  

We studied in a co-ed college and it was a ritual every morning to meet at the canteen and have a hot cup of coffee before classes start.  We would chat, laugh, tell each other jokes or just sit back quietly and enjoy our coffee. We shared a very comfortable camaraderie.

The guys knew how to be guys with their loud, sometimes obnoxious way of talking, laughing and burping.  The girls knew how to be girls with their constant obsession with the way they look and discussions about who is with whom and who got the latest fashion.  

Nirmal was different, which is what made me want to be her friend in the first place. She always behaved very maturely.. While all the girls of our class were busy with their respective celebrity crushes, she was the only one who would discuss class work, projects to be done and extra curricular activities to gain  extra credit on.  She was also good at painting and writing stories, a talent I wish I had.   She was the oldest in her family with two sisters. She knew her responsibilities as the elder daughter who every one looked up to.

So here we were, one day, sitting at the college canteen discussing the newest movie in town.  Amit was very impressed with the songs in the movie and one song in particular.   He had a good voice, so at our request, he began to sing the song he had heard.  It was a love song, with beautiful romantic lyrics.  Nirmal sat there totally mesmerized with his voice, as were we.  I could see that she was more affected by the song the rest of us girls put together.  I silently willed her to get together with Amit after the song and let him in on how she felt.   

Nirmal was of the opinion that, you cant change someone's feeling for another by merely telling them how you felt. If Amit was in love with her she reasoned that he would have told her so by now, after all guys need to make the first move if they intend a relationship.  Watching Nirmal go through the painful time of not ever letting her love show, I decided that if I ever love a person, he would know, even if he doesn't feel the same way as I do about him.   I should have known this thought would come to bite me at some time in the future.

We were in the last year of college.  In waltzes,  Rohit,  he was a transfer student from Delhi.   A very well mannered, soft spoken, broad shouldered, charming person, Rohit was.  He was unlike the other guys in our college.   He never had to be guy like for us to feel he was a guy.  He had this quiet confident air about him.. His father was a Major in the Army and was constantly being sent around the country.  He had friends all over the place.  I like to think that  he  never shared any deep friendships with anyone, until he met me. 

The day he arrived at our college, we were in the middle of a physics lecture when the head of the department of physics peeped in with Rohit in tow.  He had the deepest dark eyes I had ever seen.  He also had a wonderful smile, very endearing, the kind that melts your heart.    Perfectly set teeth shone in his mouth when he smiled.  He didn't look nervous in spite of walking into a new college in the middle of the year. 

Mr. Shaam, our physics HOD(head of the department) introduced Rohit to our class and said that we had to accommodate him and help him catch up to what we have done so far in our class.  I sat there totally tongue-tied, a trait that is quite unlike me.   I just stared at him like I had never ever seen a boy, nay, a man in my  life.

For the next few days, my life was a daze. All I could do was think of Rohit, I had incomplete homework, reading that was unfinished, lab-work that didn't seem right and a whopping headache from the stress of it all, but in all the chaos, I had this dreamy smile on my face, like the cat that just had some cream.  Nirmal noticed that there was something very wrong with me.  She coerced me into telling her about my "crush" on Rohit.  I knew nothing of the guy other than his deep eyes, soft voice and broad shoulders.. Surely a girl must know more before she has a crush, shouldn't she?

Finally the day came at the canteen, when Rohit was introduced formally to us girls; I said a "hello, glad to make your acquaintance".  He said "likewise" and smiled.. my feet felt like they landed in clay.  They were huge puddles of nothingness.  But I like to think I hid well, although Nirmal knew now what was wrong with me.  After the snacks, Nirmal said that I should take my own advice and talk to Rohit about the way I felt about him. Of course, I thought that was the right thing to do, but I couldn't work up the nerve to go and talk to him face to face.

After 3 months of trying to pump my courage, I decided that enough was enough and told Rohit that I would like to talk to him "alone". He agreed, and I was thrilled.. so we were to meet at the cafeteria at the end of the same street as our college was.  I was so happy the entire morning, I was thoroughly excited too.  As usual, the 17 of us classmates congregated at the canteen for our regular coffee and snacks.

In the course of the conversation, the topic changed to marriage, and we started discussing how many of us  would marry soon after college.. and when it was Rohits turn he said, that he was engaged to be married in 6 months.. I was shocked.. but I was relieved too.  I would have made such a fool of myself had I told him about my crush before this event.  So I did the next best thing I could.. I decided to invite all the classmates to the cafeteria, cause it was my treat.  I never ever told Rohit, I pinned inside and hoped that it would phase out.  I remembered the words I  said to Nirmal "Tell him, how you feel, whether he reciprocates or rejects, its up to him". I could tell Rohit too, but I didn't.  I was very sure he would reject my feelings for him, after all the fact that he mentioned he is engaged means he is serious about the relationship.  On one hand I was glad that he was such a man of character. On the other hand, I wished he wasn't and felt guilty at such a base thought.  I was reminded of Nirmal's words "It has to happen to you to know". Now that the boot was on my feet.. OUCH! it hurts.

So this was how it felt. This was how it would be with me. My very first crush was totally crushed. The next few months I threw myself into studies, homework was done, every lab-work repeated, every borrowed book was read without missing a word. I completely avoided being at the canteen with the rest of them for more than a few minutes, as that's all I could take, of Rohit's presence. I ached inside.  An ache that told me this was more than a crush, which of course, I emphatically denied.

Our Finals were done and all of us got through, we made plans for our futures, who would apply where for a job, who would continue to do their Masters. I was invited to Rohit's wedding, which I did not attend. I don't remember the reason I gave him, but that was the day, my tears overflowed the dam I had built.  I stayed in my room the entire day, taking turns to cry and to sleep. 

It been over 2 decades now since all this happened, but there is still a dull ache inside.  We have never met after college and I pray to heavens above that it never happens, for I have begun to like the ache, it's a reminder of my youth, of what could have been , of what I will never know, of how deep I could feel.  I am possessive of that ache. Once in a while my  husband asks what it is that makes me so sad yet serene.. should I tell him? No I wont, cause its my treasure, a treasure I will carry to my grave.

A short story-1--The Cafe

He walks into the coffee shop in his neatly pressed checked shirt hanging over his jeans. As always, dressed casually but never shabbily. Dark hair showing signs of where the head met the bed.  Grey-blue eyes full of poise, never a flicker of any emotion.   Deep gentle voice floating a "Goodmorning" to the matronly looking lady at the counter.  Invariably the lady cheerfully returns the greeting and asks "how are you today?".   Then quietly the lady accepts the cash and prepares his cappucino. He takes the cup with a soft nod and a "thank you" and goes to his nook where the sun shines through the glass wall.

I watch discreetly from my table, the 4 of us each morning, except on Sunday.  Each of us have a particular place to sit at. Each of us have a particular brand of coffee or breakfast. Though we have met here silently for the last 6 months, some longer than that, no one has ever made an attempt to talk to the other. The excuse, well, its a big space.  Each of us has a particular activity..The couple who sit at the table near the entrance, I guess are in their 60's. They seem like an adoring couple. Maybe they have had a long marriage, they must have been childhood sweethearts.  The lady usually has a bagle with her coffee, while the man has just a coffee, they always converse in quiet voice and their eyes always seem to smile at each other.

I watch greyeyes(my name for him), envying his life that gives him an aura of confidence and groundedness. Deep lines of concentration etch his forehead as he reads the sports section.  I note the same routines we seemingly have at this coffee shop, with one difference- I read the opinion section. I speculate about his life- he has calm eyes, maybe hes a teacher; He seems very confident, maybe he runs some organization; He  usually  minds his own business, maybe he has a girlfriend or wife, though I have never seen either with him; He does seem like a loner, maybe he is a serial killer planning his next kill.. A silent chuckle in my mind- ah how we assume things.

I go back to watching him between the reading.. I see his strong jawline, broad forehead that is showing signs of balding at the temples. A nose that is fairly long and ridged.  Another rustle and his newspaper is turned to the Business section.  After a while, the cup horizontal, he takes another sip. I start a slow count and as I reach 30, he folds the newspaper into a quarter fold, picks up the cup, heads towards the trash-bin, drops the cup and walks away.

Silently I say- goodbye, see you tomorrow. I let my mind daydream our imagined conversation, if we ever talk to each other... Everyday I think, maybe today I will say Hi! or maybe he will say Hi!. Maybe today we could converse and find out if my imagined stories about his life is anywhere near reality.  Curious about his life, what does he do for a living, what interests him apart from  sports, business and coffee? Does his life reflect the serene pools in his eyes, or the clean cut of his hair or the tidy clothes that he wears. Did he live here all his life or has he moved around and rearranged his life? Does he like to read books, go horse riding or play golf?

Everytime I think of starting a conversation, I end up with an internal dialogue with my split self- on why I should talk to him and why I shouldnt. By the time the internal debate is done, the whole idea of a conversation with greyeyes is so insipid. But the next day arrives and the cycle repeats.

I admit, I am a curious person. I think, we rarely talk to people we actually want to talk to. We worry about seeming pathetic, appearing needy/clingy, seeking approval, being misunderstood, judged as unworthy of the other person's time. We also worry about our feelings not being reciprocated or maybe laughed at or teased at a latter date. In theory, all these "what if's?" shouldnt matter but it does. How clean and simple it would have been if we could just turn on the theory faucet and everything happened in accordance with it? But if it did, we would have to define human beings differently.

My day has just begun, as usual the highlight of my coffee time is my imagined stories of lives that pass through the coffee shop.

Fall

Its beginning to get cold. My feet seem to get cold first as if to say.. stop whatever you are doing, whereever you are going and take note its cold.. its time for introspection.. for its the time for all of nature to slow down, pay attention to what is done so far and what needs doing now.  Rest, rejuvinate and sprout during spring.

Its also the time I notice my heart is warm. That no matter how cold it is outside, my heart warms up to those in my life. Its a pleasure to be able to be amongst them, some in my thoughts, some in person.  I usually avoid crowded places and places of noise but every time its cold I like huddling with the others, selfishly feeding off of their warmth and hopefully, giving out warmth. My foolish heart also remembers of lost loves, lost family and the lonely ones.  I wish I had a few clones of me to spread around and reach out to them. Ah, hearts always fail at logic.

Fall reminds me of growing old, and somehow it is joyful. As I watch the trees grow bald, and the leaves become brightly coloured before they become part of the natures recycle bin, I am reminded that thats what will become of me. I know, I wouldnt be as colourful as those leaves, (except for the silver head and leathery skin) but I like to live in my dreamland where the love and lives we share is more colourful, compared to my vanity.

I want to hibernate but then there are leaves to rake, soups to  make, cakes to bake and hungry kids to feed and clothes to wash. Such is the life of a housewife.. not that I am complaining(I was just observing).

Now that I am done having my head in the clouds, I am going to get back to my chores.. I hope you guys had a grounded day. Have a lovely weekend.

peace always

Mithuna.

Rain

Sharing the ledge
Under the tatch
Shelter from the rain
Thoughts an endless train
As our fingers interlace
I lean against his shoulder
Feeling secure in his strength.

The steady beat of his heart
Hoping we never ever part
The smell of rain in his hair
Stirring in me, undeclared desire,
Hands lift bowed chin
While needy eyes search eyes,
Kindled embers within.

Minds caress, as lips meet
Gently, mutely speaking,
Asking, probing, Answering,
Demanding and surrendering.
Dancing to unheard music
Softly moving to the crescendo,
Souls content, we take a bow.

-Rashmi K P 2006

Irony

Cold, chilled to the bone
No fires burn
Nor arms that hug
Nor smiles warming the soul.

Cold, chilled to the bone
Huge fires burn,
Flames hug the body
No soul inside for lips to smile.

Cold, chilled to the bone
Love for you burns
While you feel the warmth of another
Smiles die while the soul mourns.

Cold, chilled to the bone
Feeling your disappointment
Knowing you dont understand
Soul dies while the smile mourns.

So goes life..
some alive but dead inside;
some seemingly dead but sparkling inside.
Skewed perceptions, the truth unrevealed.

-Rashmi K P 2006

Child labour. (360 repost)

I dont think the issue of child labour can be isolated from other issues.. for any circumstance to come about there are usually a group of factors. I also believe that we cant solve something if we dont get to the root of it, topical patchwork solutions dont usually work.. so the question should be.. Why do we  have child labour? Looking at reality the way I perceive it, I came up with these reasons.--

1. In a consumer society(like we have today) we look at how we can get the best deal for the stuff we buy, which means the manufacturer will look for ways in which he can make the product cheaply so that they still get their profit margin. Notice everything we do in our lives is about profit.  Look at the questions we ask when we buy a product-- is it durable? is it affordable? can I get a bargain? Is the same thing available on sale? Where can I live so that I can save money for (put some need/want/consumer item here).  So child labour is profitable, cause children can be exploited. They usually have no voice, and if they do have a voice, its usually noise, no one will listen or take them seriously.

2. With the cities coming up like mushrooms, people who live the "Hard way"(agriculture/tribal way of living) are being pushed out of their habitats and forced to survive in an environment that is alien to them. They do not have the skills required to live a citylife and there is always a learning curve for anything new.. For some they dont have anything to start out with and it becomes difficult. Try to imagine a city dweller going back to the village, to grow crops and live a life where getting up at 5 am is imperative, no matter what the weather is and how your mood is.

3. Attitudes to life..at the most we all do is, talk about it, discuss it, feel good that we at least discussed it, Then set a committee and set another committee to overlook the previous one on the same issue, and pay more taxes or maybe extort money in the form of donations so that we can pay these committees..We expect the government to do the work cause we pay taxes to pay for them to take care of our needs, ok, fine, that is a good reason, but having an ethical government is an oxymoron. In my lifetime I havent seen any government that is honest or ethical in their dealings.  I think that has to do with the fact that we as individuals do not have the strength or the courage to be ethical in most situations.. we like to take the easy way out...We as a species do not value life. I dont mean life as in staying alive, but life as in the way we live it.

4. Poverty is another reason.. but if you look at the reasons for poverty, its usually the greed and hunger for power in the rest of the world and the inability/apathy that the rest of us(including me) have when it comes to dealing with poverty.. Each part of the world has a different definition for poverty, which you will notice when you read the statistics of how many dollars each nationality is earning.

5. The systems of economy, governance, laws etc that we have in place are flawed. Agreed, no system is perfect, but if we aimed and worked towards perfection, we might hit a high mark and improve things around us. We dont have to be perfect, just need to aim high. Maybe I am just another Naive Idealist.

What can I do about it? not much but I can do little things...Educate my kids, so that they can in the future avoid using child labour or work in the education of the rest of the world to change attitudes. I think if we take care of our own house, family, community then it will spread around. After all, we cant preach what we dont practise, cause then it will never have the conviction to affect change.

In conclusion,to me child labour,like every other problem that is there in this world- is related to the way we think, the way each one of us lives and the way we behave in our everyday life. I am sorry about being cynical.. At least the people whose opinions I read are far better than me, they see some hope. I dont see any hope unless the entire world changes the way we think, see, do and live our everyday lives. That could never happen or maybe it wont happen in my lifetime.